


Metropolitan

by thebabytiger



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: AU, F/F, I cannot possibly describe it more than that, a blast from the past AU, but kind of just is, the strange kind of AU that isn't really based on any one thing or any one when
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 13:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3328010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebabytiger/pseuds/thebabytiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bering and Wells AU. "Whatever kind of party this is, Pete, I don't think that it's your average soiree." Rolling his eyes, Pete couldn't help but pointing out the obvious. "Of course it's not. What kind of average soiree closes down one of the oldest, and busiest, museums in the city?" "The kind that would also notice if "Mr. Smith and his wife" didn't appear to act very much like a couple." "So we're married now?" Pete asked, wagging his eyebrows suggestively at her. "Ow," he yelped, rubbing his arm where his new 'wife' had just punched him. "Guess not. Got it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things to note about this Warehouse 13 AU. First and foremost is that there will be no Warehouse, and there will be no artifacts. Second thing to note is that I am taking huge liberties with the time period (and that I don't know exactly what time period I'm even playing around in except that it's definitely the first half of the 20th century). I highly doubt that people in general are quite as open with each other as these two ladies are going to be (especially on first meeting), but I'd like to think that Helena would defy societal standards in any universe and that there's always going to be something about HG that makes Myka want to do and say stupid things. (Third, this was somewhat inspired by an episode of Forever that I watched not too long ago. You'll note that a good portion of the initial setting and the dialogue between HG and Myka are familiar, but that is all that is and will be familiar if you're a fan of the show and happen to recognize something. This is definitely not a Warehouse/Forever crossover AU.) I'm sure there's other things to note here as well, but, well, I'll let you know when I've come up with them.

Myka holds in a shriek as she is pushed bodily out into the pouring rain while a relatively dry Pete Lattimer chuckles at her expense from under an awning. 

"Pete!" she yells with good-natured frustration, getting more than a little sense of satisfaction as his eyes widen in slight terror. Unfortunately, he shakes off his fear quickly and just gives her a sweet grin, dodging to the side as she tries to jump back in under the awning, fist flying towards his arm.

"We'll never get anywhere if you aren't willing to get a little bit wet, Mykes!" he sing-songs, leaping out from under the awning himself and darting quickly under the next one five feet further down the sidewalk. He pulls her just enough off balance as he steps past her that she finds herself following behind him before she can even really think about it, fist still raised to punch him in the arm. 

They make it surprisingly far before Myka finally manages to catch up to Pete, nearly running him as he stops dead towards the top of a set of large stone steps. Myka's long legs tend to grant her an advantage over the more muscular Pete when it comes to covering ground quickly, but Pete appears particularly determined that day and so by the time she catches him she realizes that they are already exactly where Pete meant for them to end up. The smug smile on his face as she realizes this only helps to confirm that theory.

"The museum is closed for a private engagement," a somewhat snooty voice informs them and Myka looks up a few steps to the security guard standing in front of a velvet rope by the entrance to the building. Myka looks around them, trying to pinpoint their actual location, having been distracted on their run there. She and Pete had been out at a late lunch to celebrate her birthday and were much too overdressed, in retrospect, to have been chasing each other around in the rain as they had.

"That's what we're here for," Pete says, and Myka would be surprised except she knows Pete well enough by now to know when he's lying. Apparently, the doorman does too, because he doesn't even glance at the list.

"I don't believe you're on the list, sir."

"Sure, that's us, right there at the end," Pete tries, leaning over to try and see the bottom of the list. Luckily for him, when the security guard pulls it further out of view he moves it right into Myka's and Myka, with her eidetic memory, is able to spy that there are, in fact, two names left un-checked at the bottom of the list and is also able to perfectly recall them even as the list disappears from her view once more.

For whatever reason, she decides to go along with this whole thing, as Pete is getting dangerously close to getting actual security called on them and is also dangerously close to a terrible puppy-dog pout that Myka really hates to see on his face. 

"I'm so sorry," she interjects, somewhat breathlessly, into the boys' arguments about who is and isn't on the list, "it's all my fault that we're late. You see," she continued, ignoring Pete's wide-eyed astonishment as Myka, who never lied, continued to make up a story that was, in her opinion, turning out to uncharacteristically be somewhat decent, "we're from out of town and don't get much opportunity to spend on the east coast. We had a bit of time to spare, and I insisted on some window shopping. And with the rain, and of course we let our driver go - no point in window shopping with a car trailing you the whole way. And so we are most regrettably late. I was hoping that we might be able to sneak in without causing too much disruption, if that's not too much trouble? I think you'll find us at the bottom of that list, under Smith?"

The man gaped at her, glancing to Pete, who was wisely just nodding in agreement and managing not to look too smug about the whole thing, before glancing down to confirm what he already knew: that the name was already there, un-checked.

"My apologies, sir, ma'am," he stammered, unhooking the rope. Dragging Pete in front of her as she sensed that he was about to open his mouth, she simply smiled as she turned back to face the man. 

"There's nothing to apologize for. We understand that you were just doing your job, don't we darling?" Pete just nodded, as prompted, and now unhindered, the pair headed up the stairs and through the door, which was opened for them.

"Darling?" Pete asked as they shucked their coats and handed them to a nearby attendant. It seemed that this party they had managed to sneak into was a high-class affair. Typically, that sort of thing would make Myka nervous, as Pete was almost always over-enthusiastic and more than a little uncouth in the process, but he had been under his best behavior while they had eaten and Myka didn't think that a little bit longer would kill him. Hopefully they would manage not to get tossed out on their asses. Myka wasn't terribly concerned about it, which was very much out of character (Pete's job was to push the envelope, while Myka's job was to run after Pete trying to keep him in line), but there was something about this particular day that made it seem like everything would turn out alright. 

"Whatever kind of party this is, Pete, I don't think that it's your average soiree."

Rolling his eyes, Pete couldn't help but pointing out the obvious. "Of course it's not. What kind of average soiree closes down one of the oldest, and busiest, museums in the city?"

"The kind that would also notice if "Mr. Smith and his wife" didn't appear to act very much like a couple."

"So we're married now?" Pete asked, wagging his eyebrows suggestively at her. "Ow," he yelped, rubbing his arm where his new 'wife' had just punched him. "Guess not. Got it."

Myka hadn't been lying when she'd told the man at the door that she had been hoping to sneak in unnoticed and she was very relieved to find that the crowd was mostly mingling, wandering from group to group and spread out all over the room in a dizzying kaleidoscope of people. It would be very easy, she knew from experience, to lose any one pair of people in this kind of crowd, and it would be just as easy to appear to mingle without actually mingling. With that many people, however, it would also be difficult to keep an eye on Pete, who had an almost superpower for trouble. She tried not to look too mortified as he promptly took something off of a passing tray of hors d'oeuvres and popped it quickly in his mouth. 

"Hey, this is good!" he exclaimed brightly, mouth still full. And then, an instant later, "Hey look at those!" Trying not to draw any further attention to them, Myka followed behind him as they wandered towards one of the gallery walls, hoping against hope that Pete would manage not to touch anything. 

He did manage, thankfully, and quite a few moments passed in near silence as the pair of them wandered through the gallery, slowly widening the gap between the actual invited guests and themselves.

"He seems rather entertaining," an accented voice at her elbow said as Myka blinked back to reality, eyes coming to focus not on the painting she had been viewing but on a beautiful woman in a crimson dress. 

"Yes, yes he is," Myka agreed, turning to face the woman, mouth suddenly dry as she takes in pale skin, dark, glossy hair, and a perfect figure. 

"I saw you arrive," the brunette continues, taking the briefest glance back at Pete before locking her attention on Myka. "It's good to see two people in love, and yet I'm confused. You don't have a ring on your finger and neither does he. Has he not asked you to marry him?"

Myka can only gape at her. There were so many things wrong with the woman's statement (firstly her assumption that she and Pete were a couple) that she hardly knew where to begin. "I - excuse me, who are you?" she managed to stutter out after a long pause.

"My question first," the woman said with a brilliant, but sly, smile. The British accent curls around the words and Myka can pretty much feel herself losing a battle of wills that she didn't even know she was playing.

"Champagne?" Myka deflects, gratefully snagging a flute off one of the trays as it passed. Evidently there were now enough people on the outskirts of the gathering for the catering staff to be roaming around close by and their timing gives Myka, who is growing more flustered by the moment, a convenient reprieve.

"Never drink and you never lose your head," the woman shoots back with a toss of her head, the expression on her face growing slightly more predatory as if she can sense that Myka is almost entirely out of her depth. She honestly can't say that she's ever really had to field these sorts of questions about her friendship with Pete; mostly everyone who knew them enough to ask would also know them enough to know the answer. "Now, why?"

"I don't think I'm the right woman for him," she settles on eventually, because that's also true. Pete deserves to be with someone who loves him as more than just a brother and there are so many things about her, about him, about them, that just don't fit together at all. It's a rather general response, but it's also the one that seems to cover all of the bases.

"Nothing in life is ever certain, especially not love."

"It's a long story," Myka informs her, knowing that it would take more than just a quick second to explain to a total stranger all of the ways that Myka and Pete just simply do not work together as a couple.

"When you're in love you feel like you have all the time in the world, but trust me, you don't. If you have a chance at love, Ms. Smith," and Myka flushes a hot, bright red as she remembers that she and Pete are supposed to be pretending they're married and yet there she is telling a total stranger about the long story of why they aren't, "you shouldn't let it pass you by." She turns as if to go and suddenly Myka, who had been feeling rather badgered before then, was reaching out to grasp an elbow, just below the off the shoulder sleeve of the red gown that Myka was trying not to be mesmerized by.

"I suppose I should really say that he's not my type," she tells the woman, who turns easily in her grasp as if she hadn't been all that convinced about walking away. "He's like a brother to me." And in that moment, more than ever, it actually feels more like she's Pete's mother, watching him wander away, hoping desperately that he won't touch anything, and following along behind him at a more sedate pace.

"Ah, well I'm sure the right man will come along then," the woman says, voice bright and cheerful even as it takes on a slightly hollow quality.

Myka shakes her head, curls moving gently with the motion. "No, I have no doubt that there is not a single man out there who could fit my taste in potential life partners," she says resolutely, feeling really foolish about being so open with someone who she only met a minute ago.

The woman's brown eyes gleam with curiosity and with just the slightest hint of that predatory something Myka had seen earlier and then she's smiling the kind of smile that seems somehow more genuine than anything else from earlier. "Is that so, Ms. Smith," she hums almost pensively. Myka doesn't answer, sensing the question is rhetorical. Penetrating brown eyes give her another look and Myka tries to stop from squirming. She's not sure what she had been expecting in terms of responses, but this undisguised and shameless appraisal most certainly wasn't it. "It's Helena. Helena Wells. You're crashing my party."

Myka hadn't thought it possible to blush harder than she had earlier, but she can feel her face heat up with enough warmth to light a hundred suns. Worse is that she can begin to feel the urge to babble her head off well up inside her, and she knows that nothing good can possibly come of that. Much of how they had managed to get into this party was unusual--Pete was always the better liar and the one who was best at making up a story to get out of trouble, Pete was always the one who didn't care about breaking a few rules now and then, and Pete was always the one who was coolest under this type of pressure--but the entirety of Myka's conversation with Helena had made it clear that she wasn't going to have the same, unusual, skills at getting out of this party unscathed as she had managed to have to get into this party.

"I-uh-oh god," is all Myka can manage to stutter, nearly swallowing her tongue as Helena winks, winks, at her and interrupts with a smooth, "Just Helena will do for now, darling."

Right.

"Myka." Finally something that makes sense manages to fall from her mouth. "Myka B-"

"Smith, yes. It's quite a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Smith," Helena interrupts again, as smooth and fluid as watered silk, though these remarks are slightly more pointed than the more playful interruption from before.

Right. "The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Wells," Myka says, surprised to find the slightly coy undertone in her words, though the delivery is still shaky and less than perfectly polished. 

"Helena, please, I insist," the gorgeous brunette tells her with another large smile.

"Okay then, Helena," Myka says slowly, trying the name out on her tongue, "Only if you'll call me Myka."

"I think I'd like that very much, Myka," Helena responds with genuine warmth. She opens her mouth again, as if to speak, but suddenly there's a man at her elbow.

"Helena, there you are," he says with hardly a glance at Myka and without any apparent regard for the fact that Helena appears to be in a conversation. "I've been looking all over for you. Father wants you."

"Why hello Charles," Helena responds shortly and Myka can see all of the warmth in the woman's demeanor evaporate. She looks no more enthusiastic or passionate than a piece of stone all of a sudden and Myka finds herself wondering how such a brusque man can have such a startling effect on her. "Have you met Ms. Smith?" she inquires politely after a longish pause, and the question leaves her lips like it's one she's being forced to ask.

"I have not," he responds stiffly, looking at Myka for the first time. "Hello." The moment of obligatory attention over, his gaze shifts back to Helena. "Father is waiting, Helena."

"Yes, fine Charles." Helena responds after a split second of what looks like silent prayer (for patience perhaps, or for the man in front of her to be struck down by lightning sent from the heavens). "Thank you. I'll be along in a moment." The smile that she gives him never reaches her eyes, and Myka finds herself shifting awkwardly. Clearly, there is some piece of this dynamic that she is missing, and all she is left with is this frigid exchange.

"Don't be too long." The tone is dismissive and patronizing, but at least Helena's response appears to be enough to mollify him. He leaves with barely a tilt of the head to Myka, and Myka finds that she is not at all sorry to see him go, and only mildly insulted by his rudeness.

"My brother, Charles," Helena explains on a sigh, though she suddenly looks so much more like a real person than she had a moment ago, standing in her brother's presence. She seems more lifelike and animated at the very least, even though she clearly looks no more pleased about the turn of events than she had when he first appeared. 

"He seems..." Myka struggles for a word that won't sound to terribly judgmental, and finds that she can't think of any word at all.

"Boorish, rude, overbearing, pompous?" Helena suggests, all with a sweet smile that lends a saccharine inflection to the words. 

"Sure," Myka agrees, stifling a laugh at the description. At least appears to have no issues recognizing her brother's obvious shortcomings; Myka doesn't like to judge too hastily and she wouldn't be terribly opposed to another conversation with Charles, but she is still more than a little annoyed at how intent he had seemed on ignoring her entirely. 

"Unfortunately, it seems that I am needed elsewhere," Helena says on another sigh, looking like she strongly objects to the idea on principle. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Myka." She gives a slight but graceful nod of her head to Myka in farewell and Myka finds herself reaching out, once more, for the other woman's arm.

"Wait," she breathes as Helena turns, just as easily as the first time, in her grasp. Meeting the inquisitive brown gaze with her own makes Myka suddenly nervous and she opens and closes her mouth a few times before she manages words. She gets the impression that Helena is the type of woman who would have ordinarily interjected with a slight tease, but the woman is kind and for whatever reason doesn't interrupt, patiently waiting for Myka to work her way around the words she's fumbling with. "Will I see you again?"

"Do you crash Met galas often, Ms. Smith?" Helena ripostes with a single eyebrow arched in question.

Myka shakes her head. "Never. In fact, I can't even believe that I'm doing it right now. It's very much not the type of thing I would go along with." Embarrassed by the admission, she tucks a loose strand of curls behind her ear.

Helena, though, is looking at her with an indecipherable look on her face. "I've never met anyone quite like you, Myka. You will see me again." It sounds like a promise, and it's the type of statement that Myka would ordinarily have more questions about, but Helena is leaning up to close the scant few inches between them, ghosting soft lips across Myka's cheek, and the taller woman finds that she's lost her entire train of thought as time seems to stop.

When it resumes, the woman in the crimson gown is nowhere in sight.

Several moments later, she's cursing under her breath as she realizes that neither is Pete.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes way too long, when one considers the size of the party, for Myka Bering to manage to locate Pete. It’s not until she’s canvassed the entire party twice, ducked down offshoot corridors and even popped into the kitchen that she manages to find him standing dead center in the middle of the chaos. He has, of course, managed to find one of the servers and currently has both hands, and his mouth, full of whatever the poor woman has on her tray, which would make Myka feel less concerned except that having a full mouth has never really stopped Pete from talking.

"Mykes!" he exclaims when she walks up to him, narrowly managing to avoid spraying her with food in the process. "Isn’t this great?"

Myka shakes her head no as the woman offers her something off the tray and looks at Pete. “I’ve been looking for you forever, Pete, where have you been?”

"Here, there, everywhere," he shrugs, swallowing. The server makes to walk away now that Myka has declined food and Pete quickly grabs a few more things, stuffing the contents of one hand into his mouth to make room for the new handful he’s liberating from the tray. The look the server shoots over her shoulder as she continues towards another knot of people makes it clear that she’s glad for Myka’s interruption. 

"God, Pete, what is the matter with you?" Myka hisses crossly, ever wary that someone will notice that they aren’t exactly the most refined couple at the gala and start to ask questions about who, exactly, they are. The heightened paranoia stems from her conversation with Helena, from knowing that there is someone at this party that already knows they are not who they claim to be, even though she does not believe that Helena will say anything. 

"Ugh this is so gooooodd," he moans, bordering on indecent especially given that the food still in his mouth muffles and distorts most of the words into an unusual series of sounds that barely resemble English. "It’s like you put them in your mouth and just WHAM! That’s how amazing they are. Maybe there’s something in them," he adds, talking faster and beginning to gesticulate more enthusiastically as if in complete defiance of Myka’s as-of-yet-unspoken wish to remain inconspicuous. "Some kind of thing that just WHAMs people. WHAMs? WHAMmies?" Another shrug. "Want some?"

"Something that may or may not contain something that whammies people, Pete? No offense meant to that glowing recommendation, Pete, but no thanks, I’ll pass."

He briefly looks at her like she’d kicked a dog before perking up again. “You’re right, maybe it’s not the food itself, maybe it’s like the tray or something that mystically imbues the food served from it with magical whammying power.”

She gives him a genuine look of incredulity and he just holds up his hands. “Right, well if it’s either, I’m sure you’re well equipped to investigate the matter,” she says, pointing to his still-full hands. ”Anyway, I think it’s probably time we head out of here, before things get too empty in here, don’t you agree?”

Pete looks longingly at another tray, out of arms reach but close enough to stare at, but agrees with her nonetheless. It’s clear to Myka that, despite the good food, Pete got tired of the stuffy party, and the surrounding museum, a while ago. Green eyes cast around the room, searching for the single splash of crimson in the crowd, and eventually finds the silhouette she’s looking for, alone in the gallery where they had first spoken.

"Finish those, go clean up, and meet me over there," she tells Pete, hoping that she can trust him not to cause too many more problems in the process. Sometimes, it really is like having a child, or a much younger brother, than it is like anything else. Brushing through the crowd, she leaves him behind and comes up behind the other woman, eyes trailing across the perfect, thin, figure without conscious realization.

"Tired of your guests?" she asks softly, trying not to startle the brunette with too loud a sound even though she has taken deliberate care to make sure that her approach isn’t sneaky. Helena’s posture does stiffen slightly at the words, but she relaxes almost the same instant as the voice registers.

"Myka," Helena’s throaty voice reaches her ears as Myka comes to a stop just behind her. "Not so much tired as… well, yes, actually." The British accent is clearly striving to be light and airy but the smaller woman hesitates halfway through the response, clearly startling herself with the frankness of the actual statement. A slightly surprised laugh escapes her lips. "Much too tired to mind my tongue, it would seem," she adds, turning to look back at Myka. "I love this gallery."

Myka quirks an eyebrow and offers her a roguish grin. “I would hope so. After all, this is the H.G. Wells section of the museum. I assume that H.G. Wells is you, at any rate. H, for Helena, and G for… well I haven’t managed to work that out yet.”

"You’ve an eye for details, then," Helena grants with a chuckle. "This is indeed my gallery. The H.G. Wells section. My section. And I love spending time here, when I can. It feels like a home, of a sort, you know?"

"I do," says Myka, who has often found that sort of feeling between the stacks in a bookstore and can’t imagine a life without a place like that to escape into. "So, Helena G. Wells..?" she prods lightly.

Helena’s laugh is bright and loud this time, though it’s more genuine than any she’s given since Myka walked over to her, as if she’s free in that moment of the things in life that keep you quiet, withdrawn, and tired. “I hardly think that’s fair to admit at this stage in our relationship,” she scolds lightly. “After all, I think we both know that Smith is not your true last name, and yet you’d like to have me tell you my middle name? Middle names are practically sacred.”

"Mine is Ophelia," Myka offers, smile just as bright as Helena’s laugh. She’s learning quickly that she can’t help but want to smile at the woman’s quick and playful wit.

"Shakespeare," Helena notes.

"My parents are huge classics lovers," Myka admits.

"Well, I’m not sure yet how well it suits you, aside from being a pretty name for a pretty woman, but just the same I’d thank you to stay away from bodies of water in the meantime."

It’s Myka’s turn to laugh, but it quickly fades to silence as Helena’s eyes twinkle brightly with mirth and Myka realizes that once more she’s entirely lost her train of thought. “Have you had any prolonged contact with any of the serving trays?” she blurts before she can censor herself, instantly blushing a furious red.

"Pardon?" Helena asks, but she’s still smiling and doesn’t seem to be anything other than politely puzzled by Myka’s bizarre question.  
"I’m sorry, it’s just something that my friend Pete said about the trays and whammying people." That doesn’t sound any more sane so she tries again. "I mean he was talking about something else but he said he just all of a sudden felt like it hit him like wham, and I think I’m starting to see what he meant. It’s like you have this magic ability to make the world fall away."

"And you think this might be attributed to my having touched the serving trays?" Myka was feeling more stupid than ever, but at the very least Helena didn’t seem to think the whole thing as anything more strange than a particularly interesting puzzle. 

"Well, his theory hinged on the trays as the agent of distribution for the whammying power, yes. In a way, if he’s right, this whole conversation proves his point. I can’t remember the last time I said as many mortifying things as I’ve said to you within the space of a single party."

"I shall treat that as a privilege and a great sign of trust," Helena says, waving it off. "Though perhaps it’s not the magic of these serving trays and it’s the magic of the H.G.Wells section. I seem to have a propensity for saying a large number of stupid things here as well, you just haven’t happened to have heard any yet."

"Maybe I’ll have to come back and see if you’re ready to trust me as much as I, apparently, trust you," Myka says with a laugh, still trying to calm her raging blush. Helena smiles again, but it’s back to the small, coy smile from earlier. Brown eyes flicker from Myka’s to something over her shoulder, and the smile freezes into a waxy, stiff, approximation. The taller woman turns to follow her gaze and spots Pete less than five feet away, wearing what Myka knows to be his version of a charming smile. "Pete, hey," she says lamely, having forgotten that Pete would be returning and wondering how time had managed to pass so quickly.

"I’m ready to head out whenever you are, Mykes," Pete says, but he’s not looking at her, he’s looking at Helena. "I’m sorry if I’m interrupting anything," he adds, in his suavest voice. "Pete Lattimer, uh, Smith. Pete Lattimer Smith." The awkward and painful grimace at the slip up is only on his face for a moment as he introduces himself.

"Sorry," Myka says, hurriedly trying to interject before Pete can continue to try and explain why he introduces himself with his middle name as well as his last, and why his full name is such a mouthful. "Pete, meet our hostess, Helena Wells. Helena, my… Pete." She stumbles over the word husband, eventually electing to leave it out altogether, reasoning that while odd, it’s not as if Helena doesn’t already know that she and Pete aren’t married, and it is also not as if she doesn’t already know that neither of them is a Smith. She’s more concerned about Pete’s explanation than she is about leaving evidence of the gaps in their story.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith," Helena says carefully, extending her hand but maintaining the stiff facial expression that looks so out of place on her face even though Myka has only known her for roughly a few hours. Myka also can’t help but notice that with the frigid demeanor comes the frosty formalization of Pete’s name, fake though it is, and that she utters it with none of the playful charm with which she calls Myka ‘Ms. Smith’.

"The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Wells," he says, taking her hand and placing a kiss to her knuckles. Myka grits her teeth at the unnecessarily charming move. Silence reigns over the group for a moment before Helena seems to recover.

"Heading out so soon?" she asks, still facing Pete even though her eyes cut to Myka at least twice over the very short span of the question. Of course, it’s Pete who answers.

"Unfortunately we have a prior engagement to attend to," he explains, still with his charming, boyish grin as though he would be able to gain the interest of someone who is supposed to believe that he is married. "It’s a real shame though, because we were really enjoying ourselves, right Mykes?" The look he shoots her is pleading, as if he feels the need to coax her into playing along with him, but there’s no lie at all to be found when she answers him.

"We really were enjoying our time here." Myka tries to communicate with her eyes alone just how much of that had to do with Helena herself, rather than the amazing party, guests, and setting. "It’s truly amazing having so many intriguing people all in the same room, Helena. Some of the people I’ve met today have been so utterly charming and fascinating that I can hardly wait to run into them again." Again, Myka tries to tell Helena how much of that sentiment has nothing to do with any other guest in the room. 

"Thank you both for the kind words. I can’t tell you how badly a hostess hopes to hear these sorts of things about her get-togethers," Helena says, a trace of her previous warmth returning to her demeanor. "Though I’m sure that those people would have the same things to say of you, Ms. Smith, were they to be asked," Helena’s gaze cuts once again from Pete to Myka, shaded by dark, fluttering lashes and Myka feels the smoldering gaze like the caress of a dozen embers against her skin. Myka notes, somewhat distantly as she fights a rising blush, that Helena’s forced demeanor all but melts away when she is talking to Myka, despite the undeniable caution she appears to be exercising in her address. "However, regrettable though it is, I cannot in good conscience attempt to keep you from your other plans for any longer. Perhaps we shall all be so lucky to run into each other again at another one of these gatherings?"

Pete wilts a little as it sinks in that the only reliable way to run into Helena Wells, or anyone else at this party, again is to be at another one of these parties. “I’m sure we’ll both look forward to it,” he says.

"With the greatest anticipation," Myka chimes in, murmuring the words into the silence directly following Pete’s statement. Helena’s eyes cut from Pete’s to Myka’s again and this time they catch before the dark-eyed gaze can return to the goofy third-wheel.

"Well we’d best be off," Pete says jovially, breaking the tense silence between the two women with all the subtlety of a bucket of ice being dropped on them. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Wells," he adds, reaching for Helena’s hand and once more kissing the knuckle.

"And you as well, Mr. Smith," Helena responds, tone brusque and business-like, but Pete’s attention has already wandered away from the beautiful woman in front of him, now that he knows she is out of his reach, and he is already moving away. The movement is slow, in deference to the goodbye that Myka still hasn’t said, but almost vibrating with the impatience that is Pete’s special trademark. 

"This party was really enjoyable, Helena," Myka informs the shorter woman. "I doubt that it is one I could manage to forget even with a lifetime of memories to drown it in."

"I truly do hope to perhaps see you again," Helena all but breathes to Myka and suddenly all of the tension between them is back.  
Myka smiles, delighted at the sentiment, but she knows that it doesn’t reach her eyes as she, like Pete, realizes that it’s almost impossible for that to occur. She stays silent, rather than say anything further to ruin the moment. Helena seems to understand, because she nods once, sharply and her demeanor shifts once more into something less heavy and serious.

"Goodnight, Ms. Smith," she says, coy tone to her words as she leans up to ghost another kiss to Myka’s cheekbone. Like the first, this is hardly more than the whisper of crimson lips, soft as silk, against the skin of her cheek. Unlike the first, however, it lingers far longer, even taking into account the way the world and time itself seems to blur around Myka just as it had the first time as Myka learns again all the ways in which she never wants the moment to end and in which she never wants to be without the sensation of Helena’s lips against her skin.

"Bering," she corrects on a breathy sigh, directly in Helena’s ear as they part, taking advantage of the split second where they are still close together and she has to act without thinking endlessly about the weight of what she is doing with a simple word. "Goodnight, Ms. Wells," she says, louder, as she takes in Helena’s widening eyes. 

She turns and leaves before she can spend too much time watching the faintest flush spread across pale skin and shock-widened eyes narrow into something much hungrier, though no less delighted. As it is, perfect recall will ensure that the image plays over and over, with no ability on her part to stop it, for days afterward.


End file.
